


Stories. I can't think of an actual title

by Acheloisastraea



Category: Abuse - Fandom - Fandom, Original Work, dark - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gay, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm Sorry, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, There might be fanfiction, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acheloisastraea/pseuds/Acheloisastraea
Summary: I honestly don't know why I'm posting this. I'm not good at stories. I'll probably forget to post so I'm saying sorry right now. There are more sad/depressing stories than happy because for some reason I'm more comfortable writing sad things than happy. So. Enjoy I guess.





	Stories. I can't think of an actual title

# She Stopped Caring

#### It started out so simple. A few kind words, a slight grin, some flirting and I was hooked. She led me on so easy that I never saw it coming. Then everything turned. Never anything drastic at first, just a few words laced with annoyance or anger. It was easy to ignore. Something that was pushed away with a few roses and more kind words like before. Then came the sudden bursts of anger over the smallest things, like not finishing dinner when she came home or not wiping up pasta sauce immediately after it was spilled. Again, they ended quickly after both of us cried and she apologized with kisses and sincere apologies. Two years into the relationship is when she started to use her fists instead of words. It would always start when she came home from work or a night out (I was banned from leaving because she thought I'd find somebody different and then I'd leave her). She'd be angry over something that happened at work, say a co-worker pissed her off because they moved her lunch in the fridge and didn't tell her, or because some guy or girl flirted with her at the nightclub. So instead of talking, she'd back me into a corner and slap, kick, and sometimes punch. But she was smart, she always made sure it wasn't visible to others. So I hid the bruises and cuts under shirts and pants, never wearing tank tops, skirts, or shorts even when the temperature reached 90 degrees. But nobody ever noticed. My family was oblivious, my friends looked the other way after she'd give them snippy comments about how they shouldn't be nosey in other people's business, and my coworkers just didn't care. I couldn't talk to anybody in fear of it reaching back to her and me paying the price. So I tried to be good. I stopped staying after work (I took my paperwork home so I could work there where she could see me), I stopped talking to my family and friends. I even went so far as deleting their numbers and deleting all my social media except Snapchat- where she could see my story and because she wanted to see my face when she was bored. I always cleaned the house so there was never any dirt or dust in any part of the house or even the patio. I only left the house to check the mail or to go grocery shopping- with her permission of course. I never did anything without her knowing. This all led to a severe anxiety disorder, with severe depression, and PTSD with hints of psychotic breakdowns. She never let me talk about my problems, always changing the subject or giving me more bruises.  But I stayed for two more years. Eventually, my depression led to multiple suicide attempts. I tried swallowing a bottle of pills- it never worked. My body betrayed me and forced me to throw up. I tried slicing my wrists and thighs but I never could go deep enough or she'd walk in and yell at me before cleaning me up and yelling at me some more. I tried hanging but I never got high enough so I just choked myself before I stopped. There was one time I tried jumping but she got home in time to stop me. There was once where I almost succeeded when I had a gun in my mouth. I was a coward and stopped because I knew it'd be messy and possibly stain the tub and tile.  
Those all started three months ago. I finally tried to take back my life and ended it with her. She screamed, threw things, threw me out of the house and told me to never come back. So I haven't. I got a new job- one in a new city that's closer to my parents who act like she died. They still ignore all of my problems. They say it'll stop once I find somebody new, somebody that wasn't her. It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed and to go to my job. I can't look in the mirror before or after showers because of the scars from myself and from her. I can't talk to my old friends because I'm scared they'll judge me for staying with her for so long. I can't leave the house most days or force myself to eat or sleep. I don't deserve it. I deserve this pain. It's my fault.  
My fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault.  
I can't do it anymore. I'm done. This is the last day for me, the last time I'll ever see my parents. The last time I'll see the sun or moon or stars. It's over. I bought new razors and some fresh bleach for tonight.  
~~~  
It tastes horrible, bleach that is. It's worse than it smells, it stings and makes my eyes water. But I keep drinking. I'm making myself finish the small bottle before I take the razor to the veins in my arms. I did my research so I know the best veins and arteries. I filled the tub thirty minutes ago and so I'm sitting in the water, waiting for the exhaustion to set in. Everything is fuzzy and I'm tired. So tired.  
I close my eyes and sink into the tub, the water filling my lungs and I force myself to stay under, the blackness filling my head before I lose consciousness and death comes to embrace me. 

###### Sorry if I made you feel bad  


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